"It's puzzling that you refuse to grieve. Is it that you don't yet grasp what has happened?"
Zatch bent down before the child, the barrel of his pistol centered between Yonar's eyes.
"What a strange one you are. You recognize the threat that both I and this weapon pose, yet you look adrift in some distant thought. What could possibly matter more than the thing that has you drenched in blood?"
He lifted the boy's chin with the end of his gun. But his evaluation of Yonar's state of mind was entirely wrong.
Yonar wasn't distracted, he was stunned.
What held his attention was the abnormality he saw within Zatch.
Almost none of the lights inside the man revealed intent or emotion.
Instead, they surged forward.
Beyond Zatch's sight.
Beyond his touch.
Reaching toward something unseen, stretching toward the distant stars far ahead of anything in the room.
It was such a monumental sight that, in that instant, Yonar was forced to revise everything he thought he understood about the lights that had always reflected into his eyes.
Then came the sense of hopelessness.
He had never fully learned to use his vision, never fully honed the ability to perceive and influence the desires of others. But even so, he had wanted to find something, anything, that he could appeal to within the man who intended to kill him.
'Do your best, Cadet. There damned well must be something you can offer that man if you expect to walk out of this alive.'
That voice urged him on, yet nothing revealed itself.
He did not understand what it really meant, the idea that he would "die" here.
The thought didn't attack his composure.
If anything, he couldn't stop admiring the spectacle before him: more lights than he had ever seen in a person, all aimed past life itself, prepared to drive through him as they pushed onward.
And then, only for the slightest instant, an instant he would have missed without absolute focus, the lights converged toward Zatch's line of sight before returning to their drive.
He caught the catalyst just in time.
With no idea how best to use it, without even a conscious decision, his body moved on its own. He reached for the only thing that made those lights waver.
He slipped it from her wrist, and offered it up, slowly.
Zatch almost couldn't believe it, even as the gesture drew a wide, sinister grin across his face.
To think that all his reckless, mindless gambles from years past would yield something like this was bewildering in its own right.
At last, he had found an exception.
He took the blood-smeared gold bracelet from the small hand and gave that hand a brief shake between his thumb and index finger.
"Alright then. You might have earned yourself the chance to keep on," Zatch said as he stood, slipping the gun back into his coat. "That is… by my side, of course. Prove yourself useful, and in return, everything you desire will be mine to grant."
Soon, nothing of the room, or the entire apartment, would remain.
Although Zatch preferred to erase the remnants of his past with his own hands, the actual cleanup would be left to his subordinates. No questions asked, and no evidence left behind.
But another exception surfaced.
The child, who had not spoken a single word to him, insisted on bringing along one thing from his past through a simple point of his finger.
A doll.
Out of everything scattered around the room as they left, that large doll was the only object Yonar showed any interest in; his gaze never once shifted to anything else.
Yonar assumed it was a small enough request, an unspoken reward for completing his first assignment. And against his better judgment, Zatch begrudgingly grabbed the doll as well.
By the way he held the two of them, however, it was difficult to tell which one was the child and which was the colonel.
It seemed those hands, which knew only how to cut a journey short, would never bother learning how to help complete one.
…
Through the year that followed, the three of them learned in tandem, and the results of their cooperation surfaced in the words they exchanged and the decisions they reached.
In a landscape with no courts, contracts, or legally enforced regulations, this was how their "family" maintained expansion without slipping into disorder or instability.
None of them were without the others during these arrangements.
After all, Colonel Blanchard could not speak with Zatch unless Yonar occupied the room.
When Colonel Blanchard could not assist Zatch–
"The cargo from last week was not the usual supply we agreed upon, Zatch."
"I'm aware. But don't assume it was meant to sour our relations. It's merely a prompt to re-evaluate our primary line of work."
"You believe capitalizing on Sky Company automobiles is more profitable than our current trade?"
"Not just their vehicles. Every one of their patented products."
"Do you grasp what you're proposing? Public disdain toward Authority-related incidents is the very reason our Anti-Eminent goods are flourishing. Such momentum is anything but common, let alone replaceable."
"If that's truly your stance, then you still lack a broader view of Simulum. Tell me, did you not look up on your way here? Those structures cutting across the skyline like giant serpents… a monopoly is inevitable. I refuse to be left behind."
"How absurd. That is precisely why I refuse to partake in such a reckless venture, especially with overseas trade bound to be so aggressively policed."
–He would remain quiet, seated off to the side, playing with Yonar in a corner beyond the quarry's sight.
Whenever they caught a lie threaded through spoken words–
"Nelius already tried that, so why would anyone be stupid enough to interfere with your shipments after the example you made of him? If someone did, it wasn't my guys."
'We've got another liar, Cadet. Damn shame, but it looks like we're sending one more out today.'
–the Colonel would speak in that manner as Yonar shifted his hand to brush against his second button, a signal only Zatch ever noticed.
"His actions stemmed from regret over ending our partnership too soon. You may consider his fate a merciful one. As for anyone else reckless enough to stretch greedy fingers toward my stock, their journey won't end as gently."
"If I'm correct in assuming I'm not the subject of that warning, then I'll be happy to help you with the matter."
If there was one truth they had both learned about Zatch, it was that he despised being lied to.
And whenever they alerted him to one, the result was always the same: that individual would never appear in another arrangement again. However, neither of them questioned what became of those people, because whatever occurred beyond the office walls was not their concern.
Visitors from every strata of life passed through the office regularly, and when they did, Anne handled the routine exchanges, with Colonel Blanchard making a judgement only when Zatch spoke.
Over time, a mutual understanding took shape, and the system they employed became increasingly consistent in its outcomes.
There were, of course, better ways to use Yonar's talent, ways that wouldn't place him in constant proximity to danger.
But Zatch intended for Yonar to witness everything. To watch, to absorb, to internalize.
It was unmistakable that he meant to mold the boy into a mirror of himself.
Especially on that day, when Zatch's men pinned two others, battered and bleeding, against the broad table, and Zatch beckoned him forward.
It was Yonar's first time being summoned in the presence of anyone besides Anne, and Zatch had even ordered the men to part for him, carving a path through the room with deliberate intent.
Yet the moment Yonar drew close, recognition struck.
They were runners for the family. Often paired together. Inseparable blood-brothers.
He had seen them countless times before, always eager, and always smiling as they carried out Zatch's bidding. And yet now, the story unfolding before him was something else entirely.
"Now, son," Zatch said evenly. "One of these two has committed something unforgivable. I know which one. But, curiously enough, I'm being told I'm wrong."
His gaze flicked between them.
"I despise pathological liars. So I hope I am mistaken. But–"
"Wait, sir! It was me!" the older one blurted. "I sold out the transit location, they offered a lot of money. Klein had nothing to do with it. He only joined recently because of me."
"Stop it, big bro. It's pointless."
The younger forced a smile through bloodied teeth. "It was me. I gave it straight to Sky."
Zatch tilted his head.
"You seem eager to confess your betrayal. Why is that?"
"You've got it wrong," Klein snapped. "I didn't betray your family. I was never part of it. I just wanted to screw you over, even if only a little. This had nothing to do with my brother."
"No… Klein, don't–"
Even the older one struggled to hold himself together, staring at his brother as if he were a stranger glimpsed from the corner of his eye.
'Idiot. He'd have stood a better chance keeping his mouth shut and letting the big bastard take the fall.'
Colonel Blanchard murmured the thought to Yonar.
'Better yet, they could've both played dumb, Zatch doesn't have a shred of proof tying either of them to it. Has to be that way or he wouldn't be dragging my brilliant self in to untangle it.'
Zatch turned toward the child.
"Yonar. Obvious as it may seem, I want the full answer from you. What is the truth? Reveal it."
Yonar stared at them both.
By now, he understood the rule: whichever one was named the liar would never return.
It should have been simple. They already knew. All the Colonel had to do was indicate–
"Your mouth."
The command snapped through his mind.
'What the hell is he talking about? You don't send a green recruit onto a battlefield unless you want him to choke. The great Colonel's right here, what more do you need?!"
It was an unreasonable demand.
Yonar's silence was never intentional. It was a flaw inherent to his gift.
The lights he saw,ever-present, were impossible to ignore. Like disruptions in a repeating cycle, like anomalies tearing through patterns, each streak etched itself into his mind with relentless clarity. The sheer volume of information overwhelmed before conscious thought could intervene.
Because of this, most of his actions were instinctive responses, reflexes shaped by the burden of perception.
The variable that made things simpler, was his aggregator, Colonel Blanchard.
Oddly, the doll was able to synthesize the information Yonar received into something coherent. It served as a stabilizing frame. A crutch that allowed his ego to remain intact beneath the weight of constant perception. The exact time he first began to hear its voice was hazy, blurred somewhere in the years before.
Even so, speaking was never an option he turned to. Not since his mother was still with him. To break that habit now would require stepping into a void he had only ever tested with the edge of his foot.
But at Zatch's request, he understood he had not truly been given a choice.
Worse still, the choice itself was not as simple for him as it was for the Colonel.
'Obviously, the little twerp gets the boot. He's the one who did it. Simple as that. That's the beauty of justice, it's clean when you don't clutter it up with extra motives. Never figured Zatch would turn such an easy assignment into a damned circus.'
To Yonar, it had seemed just as straightforward, until he caught the older brother's gaze.
It was strained and pleading. The look of a man balanced an inch away from collapse, stripped of dignity and bargaining power alike. The meaning was unmistakable. Whatever fate awaited his younger brother, he wanted it to fall upon himself instead.
That was all he asked of Yonar.
If Zatch truly did not know which of them was responsible, then the outcome rested entirely on him.
Yonar did not know what he would do when he closed his eyes and raised his hand to speak the words.
But he knew that once he did, he would no longer be able to pretend ignorance of what became of those they judged guilty.